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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26513560">Bite Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedasgalaxy/pseuds/andromedasgalaxy'>andromedasgalaxy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Father Brown (2013)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Reader-Insert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:28:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26513560</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedasgalaxy/pseuds/andromedasgalaxy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It may help your learning if he'd just stop staring at you like that...</p>
<p>Inspired by the prompts 'Bite me' and 'If you insist'</p>
<p>
  <i>Cross posted on tumblr under thegildedquill.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>M. Hercule Flambeau/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bite Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You could feel sweat building on your forehead, the pressure of the task at hand was getting to you, no matter how hard you tried to stay calm. It didn’t matter that you had done this before, that you had studied and researched as much as possible, the harsh reality before you was anxiety ridden and torturous.</p><p>Your fingers shook despite your even breath, making the task all the more difficult as you struggled to avoid the colourfully lit wires. It was all a game to him, the colours meant nothing, despite what your spy novels had lead you to believe. It was all a distraction, bright colours to tease you, taunt you into feeling safe. ‘The red wire or the blue,’ that was the question they always asked. But you knew better. It wasn’t about the colour of the wire, it was about what it was attached too.</p><p>With the tweezers in hand you did your best to inch the green wire up carefully, wary of any pressure plates that may sit below, desperate to find out what they were all attached to, to find out which one you were searching for. It was close, you could almost see it and then-</p><p>A loud cough resonated behind you, shaking you so thoroughly that you dropped the tweezers into the device. The sound of metal clanged as it fell into the bag, seeming to resonate in the otherwise silent room, a clear sign of your failure, drawn out slow and piercing as it found its home on the pressure plate.</p><p>You should have been glad it was only paint that spewed out of the box, bright blue covering your face in an explosion that held none of the force you knew a real bomb would hold. But still the shock startled you, the feel of cold paint dripping down your chin thick and sticky, showing your failure to the world, or at least, to him.</p><p>Laughter, rich and deep, came from over your shoulder. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you failed, the thief never ceased to find it amusing as whatever he put into his little traps set off and covered you so thoroughly. Paint was perhaps one of the better options, you knew, after all, the glitter he had used last week was still making itself known throughout your house every now and then, and at least the paint would wipe off. But logical thought was far from your mind in that moment.</p><p>It wasn’t the failure that had you so irritated, no, you were annoyingly used to the thief using dirty tactics like a forced cough to startle you into failure, but rather the amusement that rang clear in his tone. He was meant to be teaching you, that was the deal. He was going to teach you tips and tricks whenever he could, for a price he refused to name, yet here he was, revelling in your failure.</p><p>Wiping blue from your eyes you let the paint fall to the floor, no longer caring about the expensive rug beneath you, the very same one you had once been scared to even walk on.</p><p>“Bite me,” you spoke through gritted teeth, not bothering to face him as you spat the words out in irritation.</p><p>Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt so much, the laughter, barely hidden ridicule, if you didn’t care so much. But you did. You wanted to do well, wanted to learn and, deep down, a part of you desperately wanted to impress the man. He was always so suave and perfectly composed, you wanted him to be stunned by you, or at least, to see you as something more than the failure you felt in that moment.</p><p>“If you insist,” the response was anything but surprising, if you were honest. If anything, you ought to have expected it. He was always so ready with a quip and a quick one-liner. It used to stun you into silence, a blush forming at whatever innuendo was bound to follow. But you had spent enough time by his side now, you were used to the comments, and rather than startling you, they often made you laugh instead.</p><p>You were ready to roll your eyes, just as used to his flirting as you were to turning it down. You knew it was harmless, just a part of his personality at this point, that it meant nothing. But, as you glanced over your shoulder to give him a pointedly exasperated look, you caught sight of something you had not expected.</p><p>The teasing smirk you expected to see garnered across his features was nowhere to be seen. Sure, his lips still curled upwards, attempting to show that cavalier attitude you were used to seeing, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead, there was a hint of something else, almost akin to sincerity, shining through as he looked at you.</p><p>You must have been a mess, still covered in blue paint, the day’s frustrations having given way to the neat perfection you had arrived in, yet he was staring at you in a way you had only longed for in your deepest desires. You were almost thankful for the paint in that moment, it was sure to hide the way your cheeks turned red as you dropped your gaze from his.</p><p>“Maybe later,” the words felt too quiet as they fell from your lips, lacking the jesting you would usually use in such a moment, but they were somehow more real; just like your conversation.</p><p>“Well,” his voice was low, a deep hum as if in careful consideration of what to say next. The confidence in his tone was creeping back, but still lingered somewhere off to the side, not quite his usual self, no matter how he tried. “We better hurry up and get this done then.”</p>
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